Houston Music Blog

Mea culpa: Yi. I typed this entire post - then accidentally closed the Mozilla Firefox window and lost everything. Let this be a lesson to every blogger out there: compose in Word. For real.

Photos by Ray Mickshaw/ Fox

American Idol winner Kris Allen practices his "Who, me?" showbiz face.

Let's not belabor this: Kris Allen won.

It is not, in fact, gay folks' time. I'm not especially surprised, but I am disappointed. What can you do, though? Adam Lambert will drop an amazing album someday. Kris will drop a lame album that will clutter used bins and flea markets in five years' time. You know I'm right.

So much happened Wednesday that the usual, exhaustive rundown of quips doesn't begin to do it justice, and I'm literally falling asleep in front of my screen. So I'm just going to randomly scan my notes and highlight a few things in Uzi style. Like, this was sort of an American Idol high school reunion, with Bo Bice and Reuben showing up in the audience, right? And David Cook's single about his brother was really touching, and I hope you downloaded it from iTunes - the proceeds go to a cancer-cure charity.

And that Black Eyed Peas song was tight! They had the most amazing backup dancers ever, seriously.

Photos by Frank Micelotta/ Fox

More Than This: Ryan Seacrest's idle chatter couldn't mask the import of Tuesday's finale.

The heat is on. Now or never. And better yet, it's a no-brainer, the same way Dubya vs. Kerry or Obama vs. McCain or Coke vs. Pepsi or Bird vs. Jordan were no-brainers. There's no gray area between Kris Allen and Adam Lambert, none. The former turns everything he touches into coffeehouse schmaltz; the latter refurbishes classic-rock/soul/whatever standards for glammed-out re-sale.

By now, you know which flavor you prefer. Like, what if we lived in an alternate reality where there was an American Idol finale pitting Jason Castro (oddly amazing stoner bro) versus Chris Daughtry (nu-grunge-rock codpiece)? Imagine, because that's more or less the choice faced now, except that Castro's about a million times more interesting than Allen could ever hope to be.

Anyway, let's hit it:

* Holy shit, were Kris and Adam gooney pre-auditionees, or what?

Photos by Frank Micelotta/ Fox

Homeward Bound: Danny Gokey's exit didn't prompt a whole lot of tears.

"I think we've had enough suspense, enough commercials - let's just get to it."

This is what Danny Gokey told Ryan Seacrest, and, by proxy, America. We were in agreeance - Wednesday night's show was almost over, and at the point Gokey said the above, Katy Perry's appearance was the last roadblock standing in the way of everybody on Earth discovering whether the Idol axe would fall on MOR belter Gokey, frat-boy fave-to-be Kris Allen, or glam falsetto killa Adam Lambert.

Bye-bye, Danny Gokey. At first I felt pity for you. Then I realized that your dead-wife backstory was keeping your dreams alive. Then I realized that you were kind of a dick, the sort of dude I've come across time and again in life, convinced that doggone, you're a good person and people like you - when, in fact, everybody sort of wishes you'd die a slow and painful death in the intestines of some gruesome creature. Also, your singing? Your singing was like the worst Taylor Hicks impression, ever.

Yet if I'd had my druthers, you'd have hung on for one more week so Lambert could've stomped you, then scraped you off of the sole of his silver spray-painted stadium boot. There's no denying it: Allen's ballsy "Heartless" gambit paid huge dividends.

Disclaimer: Thanks to technical difficulties brought about by the crap DVR capture feature of our limp-ass new cable box/provider, I missed the first 15-20 minutes of Tuesday's episode of American Idol. Please feel free to attempt to conjecture about whatever you think I would have said - had I been able to watch - in the comment section. Or just call me a homophobe, or get all up in my grill for screwing something up! Whatever.

So I have no idea what song the American Idol judges decided on for Danny Gokey this week, just no clue. Caught a snippet in the end-of-show recap, but it just sounded like some smarmy Gokey'd-out business, and since whatever he sings gets slimed, it probably doesn't matter.

Tuesday night's watchword was "strategy," and not just because the judges kept dropping it like a sailor hurling f-bombs on shore leave. The extreme cautiousness with which the Top Three chose their songs and delivered (most of) the songs chosen for them was almost palpable, and sorta nauseating.

Let's get into it:

Photos by Ray Mickshaw/ Fox

No More Pencils: Slash (right) took American Idol's Final 4 to school Wednesday night.

"Who will graduate from the school of rock? And who will just get schooled?" Ryan Seacrest asked, rhetorically, at the beginning of Wednesday night's episode of American Idol.

We wondered, then. I smelled an upset, myself. Just felt it. Kris Allen should be going home, I knew - but the likelihood that America could screw up and shaft Allison Iraheta or Adam Lambert just as easily. (Life's too unfair for Danny Gokey to screw off, so I didn't even entertain that possibility.)

Then Kris was safe, then Adam was safe, then Allison was outta there. Allison, we'll miss you like crazy, babes. Sure, you were an annoying teenager with a bathroom closet full of hair dye, but you also had mad microphone skills. And never forget: you were Season 8's last woman standing, and you were eliminated at the point Chris Daughtry was canned back in Season 5. That's a positive omen.

Photos by Ray Mickshaw/ Fox

Man alive! Jamie Foxx mentored last week, and now guitarist-celeb Slash is in the proverbial American Idol house for "Rock and Roll Week"! Okay, sure, these people have projects and albums to promote, but these still feel like coups.

Lot to address, so today I'm skipping the expository rant and going straight to my patented bullet-point breakdown:

* Slash is looking rough! He's like a cross between Lenny Kravitz, Howard Stern and Bloom County asswipe Steve Dallas or something; you get the sense that he's bathed in the blood of the lamb, crawled the gutters, done unspeakable stuff in dark alleyways.

In short, he's sorta the antithesis of what Idol mentors usually are, for better or ill (I say for better). The square dude sitting to his right in the audience - blue button-down shirt, blank expression - doesn't look too thrilled to be sitting next to Slash, as if he's afraid he'll catch AIDS.

* Debut Slash solo album, coming soon to a Mediafire link near you. I guess those "Slash's Snakepit" records didn't count.

Photos by Frank Micelotta/ Fox

Auto Pilot: Jaime Foxx "performs" on American Idol Wednesday night.

Blame it on the vodka, blame it on the Henny, blame it on whatever you wanna, but I'm going to place blame for the hiply generic feel of Jamie Foxx's new single squarely on the shoulders of everybody responsible for perpetuating the increasingly dispiriting ubiquity of AutoTune-slimed pop hits this decade: Lil Wayne, Kanye West, Akon, and most especially T-Pain.

See, "Blame It" - the T-Pain-assisted single Foxx performed "live" on American Idol Wednesday night - isn't an inherently awful robo-sleaze jam. It's actually kind of addicting, really, and as a T-Pain song it makes perfect sense because T-Pain established himself from the jump as a sort of manufactured, filtered post-R&B pop presense - a deliberately artificial ghost haunting nightspots and recording studios. But Foxx has proven that he can actually fucking sing.

And that fact makes "Blame It," where his confident vocals are funneled through and warped by the AutoTune matrix, feel more like a desperate grab for mainstream relevance than anything else. Worse, Foxx lip-synced this thing live on Idol, a show that celebrates and values singing ability over all else, the night after bestowing all sorts of great advice on the Top Five. What the hell, Jamie! What the hell.

Sorry to get so carried away about this crass act of hypocrisy; lots of other stuff happened Wednesday night that we should probably address:

Continue reading " Idol Beat: The Top Five"...

That Jamie Foxx, right? A Rennaisance man if there ever was one: the guy's a comedic genius (see In Living Color; tons of flicks), a big-screen leading man, credible action star, R&B champion - plus, as it turns out, he's a natural at mentoring American Idol hopefuls. I wouldn't have figured on him doling out advice to contestants during "Rat Pack Week," yet there he was. (I smell a Foxx-as-Sammy-Davis-Jr. in an as-yet-unconceived Rat Pack biopic, don't you?)

Let's consider our Top Five from worst to best, in order of how they acquitted themselves Tuesday evening, shall we?

Matt Giraud

I've said it before, and I'll say it again: why is this guy still here? He's the only Season 8 contender left who's got the right fashion sense for "Rat Pack Week," but the crazy pitchiness of his "My Funny Valentine" made me wanna hide inside my couch. At least he didn't botch the money-shot key change Foxx instructed him to reach for.

Simon: "For me, it was the only believable, authoritative performance I've heard tonight."

Ray Mickshaw/ Fox

Mighty white of 'em: Idol sends Lil and Anoop packing.

And then there were five.

Not the quite the five we expected, either: both Lil Rounds' reign of ineptness and Anoop "Ralph Lauren" Desai's bob-weave hit-or-miss streak have come to an end, cut short by American Idol voters. Justin Timberlake clone Matt Giraud apparently has the kind of luck usually reserved for Powerball winners. To wit: Season 8 just got a whole lot paler.

A word, gentle Idol Beat readers: your vote(s) count. I'll say it again: your vote(s) count. Are you of the opinion that Danny Gokey is destined for stratospheric international stardom? Does Allison Iraheta's voice send you into shudders of delirium? Do you believe that Adam Lambert is the risen Christ, incognito? Would you shell out dough for a Kris Allen rap album, of all things? Then when Ryan Seacrest urges you to vote for somebody, do it.

Photos by Michael Becker/ Fox

Praying for time: Lil Rounds sang Chaka Khan like the goner she is.

Can we reasonably agree that disco itself - the music, that is - isn't so horrible? What's worth detesting, looking back in time, are the associated lingo, fashions and overall smarmy vibe of that bygone era, which goes a long, long way toward explaining why the disco-themed parts of reality-show competitions are inevitably unwatchable.

This is American Idol's "Disco Week." I'd be lying if I said I'd been awaiting this with bated breath, though the promise of two contestants heading home was certainly tantalizing. Then I watched Tuesday night's episode. Here's what I came away with:

*This week's Bottom Three will be a mirror image of last week's - as will this week's Bottom Two. So Matt Giraud, Anoop Desai and Lil Rounds will be on the chopping block, then Anoop will return to safety, then - the chaff out of the way, at last - Season 8 will really get interesting.

Michael Becker/ Fox

Bottom Feeding: Lil Rounds and Matt Giraud will likely be right back here next week.

At the beginning of Wednesday's American Idol, I was pretty sure that whoever the week's lowest vote-getter was - Lil Rounds or Matt Giraud - would go home. No save for them. So when Simon Cowell announced that despite the fact that low-man-on-the-totem pole Giraud wasn't improving and had no prayer of winning Season 8 - then went and saved his bacon anyway - I was totally floored; didn't see this coming, like, at all.

This means that next week - Disco Week - two contestants will be eliminated in one fell swoop. I'm ready for Disco Week to be an unmitigated disaster for everybody involved, save maybe Adam; mostly will function as a test of a) how what each hopeful can accomplish with dated, cheeseball material (i.e. versatility); and b) how devoted each hopeful's fanbase is.

But you're not interested in my conjectures, are you? You want dirt on what happened Wednesday night! So let's go there, shall we?

Michael Becker/ Fox

Somehow Still Hanging Around: The bloom is off Lil Rounds' "Rose."

Perhaps delusionally, I nursed a desperate hope that this week's American Idol theme would be "songs used in Quentin Tarantino movies." Seriously, I even worked up a sort of dream list of songs I thought the seven remaining contestants would choose from brilliantly soundtracked flicks like Jackie Brown, Reservoir Dogs, and Death Proof.

Alas. I was mistaken, of course: this is "Music from Films" week, and Tarantino - who joined Simon Cowell, Paula Abdul and Randy Jackson at the judges' table waaaay back in Season 3 - was merely on hand as a mentor.

Indulge me for a second and join me in imagining just how kick-ass "Quentin Tarantino Week" might've been: Adam Lambert turning "Hold Tight!" inside out, Allison Iraheta tarting up "Woo Hoo," Danny Gokey sinking his frat-dude teeth into "Hooked on a Feeling." I mean, damn.

But I'll take batshit, overexuberant Quentin any way I can get him - his Inglourious Basterds [sic] won't hit multiplexes til summer - even if it just means that his role is to nudge and cajole our Top Seven into top-tier performances.

Photos by Frank Micelotta/ Fox

Guests of the Sheik: Flo Rida and his "harem."

First things first: in yesterday's Idol Beat, I made reference to how excited I was for Idol Gives Back, a wildly successful annual event/trainwreck wherein the program brings a ton of celebrities on in an effort to raise money for various worthy charaties.

I've just learned that Idol Gives Back won't be happening this year due to the recession. (The announcement was made last December, and I totally missed it.) That's the stated reason, but I think the unspoken one was that American Idol didn't wanna have to state post-Idol Gives Back that giving was down significantly. Either way, bogus.

Onward:

* Flo-Rida and Kellie Pickler are here, which would be an inherently interesting fact if they were going to perform the Ol' Dirty Bastard remix of Mariah Carey's "Fantasy." Which they won't.

*You know, a family of rats could comfortably live in one of the fancy, long, "Old Hollywood" lavender gloves Paula's wearing tonight.

Photos by Michael Becker/ Fox

Front runner: Adam Lambert, American Idol's likely last man standing.

Long before being voted in as California's current governor, Arnold Schwarzenegger starred in a popular sci-fi action movie called Predator. The specifics of the plot aren't important, but the underlying schematic is a bunch of characters getting picked off, one by one, by some dangerous, mysterious other. (See also Alien, Sunshine, Event Horizon, and a billion other movies.)

And so the big question this season of American Idol poses now is: in what order will the remaining contestants be dispatched? The question, mind, not the thrills; the thrills are the mentors, the guest performers, the Ford-hawking idiocies dreamed up. No Idol Gives Back spectacle this year, though.

I stand by my contention that Adam Lambert and Allison Iraheta will be the last stars-to-be standing at the end of this long and winding process. Guessing what will happen over the next several weeks is foolhardy because the weaker hopefuls are yo-yoing between brilliance and suckitude, but I've never been shy about admitting that I'm something of a fool myself.

So I'll offer some guesses now, in the mentor-free heat and flash of Songs-Released-The-Year-They-Were-Born Week, in descending order:

Photos by Michael Becker/ Fox

No joy in Megan's world Wednesday night.

Karma's a bitch, ain't it? Megan Joy admits that she doesn't care what Simon Cowell thinks of her performances, and then, when the judges have to decide whether or not to save her from elimination, Simon throws that comment back in her face like an icy snowball. Karma at work, folks.

And teary-eyed Megan wasn't ultimately as tough and poker-faced - I swear, I'm not punning on Lady Gaga here - as she wanted everyone to think she was, with her weird/beardo airs, tatted-out right-shoulder-sleeve, shabby-chic fashion sense and stiff-upper-lip grin while getting slammed by judges determined to trap her (and every other Season 8 contestant) in a specific artistic cubbyhole.

I never liked Megan, and I say this as someone who spends a lot of time championing outsider oddball types. I didn't think her crow-calling, wing-flapping routine was funny or subversive - it was more "what the fuck" than anything else.

 

Fox

Scott McIntyre: Don't go changin'...

Remember last week's requiem for the Sarvernator? Turns out that Anoop - Season 8's Great Dork Hope - is in the same damn leaky boat: a phenom before the judges, a lamestain when serenading America. His put-on Usher turn last night cemented his unworthy status, and officially killed any affection I ever had for the guy. In all likelihood, Anoop will be in tonight's bottom three with Megan Joy and Lil Rounds, and he will deserve it.

Last night was revealing on several levels. Danny Gokey and Kris Allen totally redeemed themselves, turning in their best performances in ages and making me think that I've been underestimating them, while Scott MacIntyre almost stole the show with a stripped-down rendition of Billy Joel's "I Love You Just The Way You Are."

Was this a cynical ploy on his part? Maybe: it was another piano-based song by a Piano Man and the lyrics can be read as a backhanded plea from Scott to the audience for acceptance. But his passion was the clincher here, overshadowing the quavers and roughness in his vocal. He's never sounded so sincere, so captivating. Color me chastened, and - maybe just temporarily - on his bandwagon.

Photos by Frank Micelotta/ Fox

Songs in the Key of Idol: Stevie Wonder performs Thursday night.

I dare you. I double-dog dare you. Try not to break out into a toothy, mile-wide grin while watching Stevie Wonder command a stage, loop-de-looping through a handful of his zillions of classics in that inimitable zig-zag, running-through-tonal-mazes-at-light-speed style of his.

Was he actually playing those keys live last night on American Idol? Doesn't matter, because we knew he was singing "Overjoyed," "Superstition" and the rest, tearing us off some sweet harmonica freestyles, ad-libbing stuff like "I love you, Barack Obama!' and "I love you, American Idol!" for the hell of it.

In other words? Stevie Wonder is influentially immortal, and it was really great to see him - and to see that he remains in top form.

In other news:

* Ryan Seacrest announced that 36 million votes were cast Wednesday night, setting a Top Ten Week Idol record. What this really means: 3 million people voted Wednesday night.

Photos by Michael Becker/ Fox

Michael Sarver couldn't patch Motown's soul.

Man, Sarvernator! What happened? When first we met, you were so dope, flexing serious white-soul chops - minus a soul patch - and you had the sort of blue-collar backstory that seemed to make you a lock for the Top Seven or Top Eight. But it turned out that you had an Achilles heel: the audience.

When you sang for the American Idol judges' panel, you were golden; when you had to get up in front of a studio audience and millions of television viewers, the gig was up and you devolved into a smarmy caricature of a karaoke jackass. I haven't the heart to delineate here how pathetic your rendition - more like extraordinary rendition, really - of "Ain't Too Proud To Beg" was on Wednesday night. Simon Cowell can do it for me: "In the real world, that wasn't good enough."

America - if America was honest with itself - will send you packing, Sarvernator. And the judges - who need to use that save soon - won't overturn your dismissal.

Photo by Ray Mickshaw / FOX

Grace gets the bad news; Sarvernator is just glad it's not him

I was wrong, wasn't I? Alexis Grace is toast - burnt toast. Girlfriend doesn't even get to be on the next American Idol tour, which is somehow more crushing to my mind than her not staying in the competition. It means that she isn't guaranteed the opportunity to really better her family's financial situation. That's not to say that The Sarvernator and his brood don't deserve that; not at all. But Alexis has way, way more potential in her pink-blonde hair mop than Sarver has in his entire body. I don't blame America for calling it wrong, though; I blame the judges for not stepping up to the plate and saving the Molly Ringwald/Cyndi Lauper of Season 8. For shame.

Photo by Ray Mickshaw / FOX

Pictured: Matt Giraud, exquisite gumline

Traditionally, I've concluded the first Idol Beat of any given week with predictions as to who the American Idol judges or viewing public will send home the next night. This week I'm upending that, and predicting that no one will go home. That's right: all eleven of the remaining finalists are safe as houses.

"But how is that even possible," you ask, you cry, you pound the sides of your PC monitor. Well, the judges have that save - they can snatch any contestant from the jaws of elimination - and frankly, nobody utterly blew their deal this week.

Ray Mickshaw/ Fox

Nunez out: Don't let the door hit you where the Good Lord split you, Jorge (middle).

A new wrinkle in the elimination curve! The return of a prodigal Idol winner! A performance from a self-important pop-rap blowhard! Two more contestants falling under the proverbial sword! The first of the dreaded Ford-sponsored videos-cum-advertisements! Gratuitous decolletage courtesy of Paula Abdul! This...is American Idol!

* Get this: the judges can perform one 11th-hour stay-of-execution save of a contestant who America wants to send home. Just one. Did they decide to save Jorge Nunez or Jasmine Murray, who got the lowest number of votes this week? Hells no, thankfully.

* Did you notice that in eliminating Nunez, all potential for dramatics this season have pretty much been excised? The remaining hopefuls are by and large a staid, calm group. Just sayin'.

Ray Mickshaw/ Fox

Paula liked the way Scott McIntyre handled his instrument.

Tonight's theme? "Michael Jackson Night." Thus, a lot of tears (and no lack of cruel laughter) are pretty much guaranteed - and the King of Pop won't even be there!

* Ryan Seacrest outsources announcing duties to some nameless stooge. Hey, anonymous announcers need work, too. Toupees don't buy themselves!

* This big kahuna stage set is like a night club from Xanadu or Buck Rogers, which probably wasn't the vibe the producers were going for. Or was it?

* Lil Rounds very nearly negates the good will generated by her enthused performance of "The Way You Make Me Feel" with that stupid fucking poofy-pink shoulder ruffle. I'll never really "get" fashion, will I?

Frank Micelotta/ Fox

Lucky 13: the American Idol season 8 finalists

First off, I'd like to extend a hearty Idol Beat way-to-go to the Fox minion or technological gremlin responsible for causing last night's episode of American Idol to cut out while Simon Cowell and Tatiana Del Toro were quibbling over the latter's decision to re-visit a particular Whitney Houston song. (Personally, I'm of the opinion that singing any given song more than once on this show shouldn't be allowed, but come on: her "Saving All My Love For You" was unfuckwithable. I'm totally buying her first, pre-Betty-Ford album whenever it drops.)

Thanks a whole lot for denying me the opportunity to catch Anoop Desai's Wild Card performance and catch various reactions when this group of eight was whittled down to four, and the decision was made for the Top 12 to become the Top 13. The episode proved elusive online last night, and I can't watch Web video here at work. Of course. Way to keep it classy.From what I was able to watch, I was able to discern the following:

Michael Becker/ Fox

Group 3 finalists Scott McIntyre, Lil Rounds and Jorge Nunez

In honor of Randy "That Was Hot!" Jackson, startlingly homely American Idol Season 6 auditionee Jennifer "The Hotness" Chapton, and rapidly shrinking boomer-rawk mag Rolling Stone - which boasts a "Hot List" annually - today's edition of Idol Beat comes at you from a "Hot" perspective.

HOT 'DO

Von Smith's ludicrous, gravity-defying, Ed Grimley uplick last night. Was that a minor miracle of cosmologic science, the product of a liter or mousse, or, in my wife's words, Von's attempt to make himself look like "a duck's ass"?

HOT GROUP 3 VICTORS

Lil Rounds (natch), Jorge Nunez (whaaa?) and Scott MacIntyre, who made through on sympathetic "he's blind" votes; his "Mandolin Rain" performance Tuesday was unforgivably shakey. Last night's reprise, though? A heck of a lot better, probably because the pressure was off.

Peyton Manning flow - I just go, no huddle:

Michael Becker/ Fox

Lil Rounds

* Hey, Von, Alex, Scott, Taylor, Kendall? You thought you were trying to advance into the Top 12 tonight, didn't you? But you were wrong: in reality, you were just opening for Lil Rounds.

* Kara, do everyone a favor and quit'cher harping on the dire importance of "knowing who the contestants are." No one else cares. We want wet-dream fodder, disposable pop music to chew up than spit away like Bubblicious, glitzy content to break the clustered monotony of commercials and kill time between supper and blessed unconsciousness.

* Nathaniel Marshall, I gotta be real here: I really don't care that you and your convict moms used to flounce around to this crap Meat Loaf ballad when you were a tot. You shouldn't have gone there, girlfriend. It was one more fatal song choice in a night full of 'em - nay, a season full of 'em. You were clearly having the time of your life, but nobody else on Earth who happened to be watching was.

Michael Becker/ Fox

No leg up for Jeanine Vailes...

Ah, Brooke White! Willowy, peanut-brittle fragile Brooke White. Wasn't it just yesterday that America witnessed you struggling not to crack under the pressure of being an American Idol finalist: unsuccessfully fighting back tears, begging the judges for do-overs after flubbing introductions, making viewers wish we could console you with hugs and Kleenex?

What a difference a year makes. Last night you returned to Idol's piano stool with serious confidence, with a new single, with helpful advice for the current season's crop - "Stay true to yourselves, don't Google your name" - with your trademark goldilocks in place. We're not gonna buy "Hold Up" or anything, but we liked it okay, and we hadn't realized until now just how much we'd missed you - and trying to guestimate when you'd puke and pass out onstage from the stress.

Michael Becker/ Fox

Adam Lambert

There were a few seconds during the Rolling Stones' 2006 Super Bowl halftime performance where formaldehyded guitarist Keith Richards let his inner demon peek out. I can't remember for the life of me which song the band was playing, but Richards let loose with a bit of gnarly fret nastiness where he could've played it straight; it was a quick, effective display of virtuosity, a reminder that dude could've run away with the entire mini-set if he'd so chose.

On last night's American Idol, Criss Angel lookalike Adam Lambert worked a similar angle, only in reverse. Covering the Stones' "Satisfaction," the Hollywood native opened his can of whup-ass all the bloody way, carving up the rock and roll staple like Emeril laying waste to a succulent turkey: running stunning falsetto and bass circles around the central vocal melody and crack backing band, working the audience like a seasoned pro, and generally just taking no-sweat ownership of that song in a way I'd never borne witness to before.

Chris Cuffaro/ Fox

Tatiana del Toro

When contestants on romantic/superficial reality shows are sent packing - when Flav withholds a clock, Tila Tequila declares that you've lost your shot at "love," or whatever - it's tough to empathize with the teary-eyed rejects, because by now the audience recognizes their exile as temporary, a stepping stone to a spin-off series or some other realm of sub-fame.

Sleep off the sting of rejection, then retain an agent over morning coffee. Hate the player, but remember: s/he drafted you into the Celebreality game. Sympathy for shitcanned hopefuls is more forthcoming on programs based on talent or ability, where winning (or almost winning) really, really matters, where something is actually at stake.

So You Think You Can Dance, Project Runway, and American Idol are three such shows. With all of this in mind, we bid a fond Idol Beat farewell to San Juan dramatrix Tatiana Del Toro, who suffered something of a total emotional collapse last night upon learning that the American Idol viewers have had their fill of her histrionics.

Photos courtesy Fox

Let the dividing and conquering commence! Here's how it works this year: dude and lass with the highest vote counts in each of the three sub-groups of 12 are in like Flynn, plus the next-highest vote-getter, regardless of gender. Once the "Top 9" are determined, there'll be some wild-card hoo-ha to settle on three additional finalists.

Some observations: - Ryan: "Say hello to the judges. It's starting to look like The View over here!" Touche.

Alexis Grace's got a sort of "tamed Molly Ringwald" thing happening, doesn't she? And she sings them blues like a woman who's lived 'em, leading Simon to trot out the highest form of Idol praise: a Kelly Clarkson comparison.

Michael Becker/ Fox

AI judges Simon Cowell and Kara Dioguardi

DAY 5

This new Idol concept - a lushly appointed "judges' mansion" where contestants on thin ice are forced to sing for their survival - was squandered, somewhat, by the producers. I mean, this was a two-hour show, and really, there was time to make it a bit wacky, with mock bits wherein Simon, Kara, Paula and Randy pretend to live the high life: pedicures, pampering, sending butlers on petty errands, flipping out on chambermaids, snacking on caviar, etc.

Instead, the whole affair was deadly serious, and the regal nature of the setting overshadowed everything else happening: the deep, dark wood paneling, the gold-rimmed paintings, the expensive-looking carpets, the plush red chairs the judges sat on, the carved fireplace behind them, the elevated, ornamental ceilings.

I was reminded of Donald Trump holding court in his Apprentice board room, and kept wondering how many other reality shows this mansion had appeared in and whether, if a hopeful took a wrong turn, they'd wander into a scene from Rock Of Love: Charm School.

Anyway: